


Gifts of the Sea

by Menatiera, Trashcanakin



Category: Invaders (Marvel), Marvel (Comics), Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Ambiguous worldbuilding, Deal With It, Familiars AU, M/M, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Soulmates, Standard Winter Soldier Warnings, because he's awesome and he deserve a friend, bucky's familiar is the kraken, marvel rare pair bang, matchmaker kraken, namor is a secret softy under the rough surface, or at least one kraken, past abuse - mental and physical, recovering Bucky Barnes, sort of courting, steve the kraken, winter soldier angst, wintersubmariner
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:27:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23154799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Menatiera/pseuds/Menatiera, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trashcanakin/pseuds/Trashcanakin
Summary: "Bucky was lucky.He had found his familiar at the early age of 7, named him Steve, and they were accepted and loved despite the strangeness of Bucky's familiar.Then the war came and it changed everything."***After being used and abused by Hydra for decades, the Winter Soldier finds himself in the city of Atlantis thanks to king Namor. As if his life weren't complicated enough before.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Namor the Sub-Mariner
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24
Collections: Marvel Rare Pair Bang 2019





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Trashcanakin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trashcanakin/gifts).



> This fic is the collective effort of Trashcanakin, who made a wonderful and inspiring moodboard and allowed me to run with my initial idea for the fic instead of her concept that she had in mind; cpt_winniethepooh who encouraged me as always (and nudged me to actually write); Penndragon27 who did a swfit and amazing betawork as always; and many other people who expressed anticipation and excitement over the concept, the snippets, and the general fic over the course of weeks, including Bill, Loran and most of all, Kaity, who managed to read it in one sitting while it was an unbetaed WIP. 
> 
> _You're all the best, thank you so much._
> 
> This is also a fill (in the later chapters) for the Bucky Barnes Bingo, square B4: Sunset/Sunrise

[](http://imgbox.com/QxSg1RhT)

Familiars were not uncommon. It was said that there were as many familiars walking the Earth at any given moment as there were humans alive. The creatures were among us, hidden in plain sight: posing as any regular animals. Only they had their own magic to protect themselves from the dangers of the world, especially the greedy humankind.

Except that, similar to humans, familiars bonded. They've survived for so long because they weren't lonely. 

They had their human pairs.

Just like humans were not always ready, or friendly, or open-minded - familiars weren't always open to their bond. It was said that about 70-80% of people met their familiars throughout their lives and maybe 75% of those encounters resulted in successful bonding. These estimations were vague at best, of course, but people generally accepted that about half of the population had a familiar at their side. It was nothing new.

Of course, humans wouldn't be humans without judgements, so naturally, there was a lot of discourse and stigmas and opinions around familiars. Western people scoffed at familiars with less than desirable forms, like bugs or reptiles, which often made those familiars reclusive and hard to bond with. People tended to adore mammal familiars, especially if they were cute and cuddly, easily overwhelming the poor creatures in question - or trying to force bonds on them. People with rare kinds of familiars were either admired or ostracised, with hardly a way in between.

Bucky was lucky.

He had found his familiar at the early age of 7, named him Steve, and they were accepted and loved by all of Monterey Army Base despite the strangeness of Bucky's familiar.

Then the war came and it changed everything. Suddenly, Steve wasn't seen as a companion, but as a weapon for the army to use. Bucky, despite being a military officer (and among the youngest of those, perks of being raised by soldiers), was sent to the Navy to help the operations at sea. He did so, with stellar results.

Until his familiar got captured, and Bucky gave himself up in hopes to save him, only to find himself trapped in hell.

***

Bucky knew he wasn’t important. He was just the _human_ that came with the prize Hydra wanted most - the best with what they could control the seas. 

The Soldier knew it by now.

Bucky hadn’t known, back then. He was naive and young and believed that if he complied, his best friend would be released. He had cursed himself over and over for that, in the beginning, until he forgot how, or even why. It wasn’t that he gave up, he… well. If he was completely honest, then it was. All the things done to him - even though he didn’t remember most of them - shrunk him, made him withdrawn to his shell, until nothing left in the forefront, but an empty vessel for Hydra to pour its will into.

And the Soldier was born.

His reality was nothing else than what his capto— no, that wasn’t right. Nothing else than what his _handlers_ offered to him.

The Soldier could be useful on its own. He was capable and skilled. But it didn’t matter how many successful shots he took, and it didn’t matter how many missions he delivered on his own, because that was only second priority to his real usefulness.

He was the tamer of the Beast.

He was the only one to be able to handle the Kraken. That was what made the Soldier so irreplaceable, that’s what made the Soldier know that no matter what pain was ahead of him, the sweet release of death wouldn’t be the end for him.

Hydra needed him, so Hydra kept him, and there was no way for the Soldier to have anything else than what Hydra had for him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also a fill for my Bad Things Happen Bingo: square I2 - Locked up and left behind.

The mission was a success. The Soldier watched as the remnants of the ship sunk deeper; the Kraken ripped pieces out of the ship’s body. The colors of the debris were fading as less and less of the sunlight reached the wreck. The Soldier swam left to prevent one of the bigger planks from hitting him and spotted a body that still moved.

The Beast would finish the rest of the ship, cleaning it from the surface of the sea, but it was the Soldier’s job to make sure there were no survivors.

His awareness zeroed in on the figure as he moved to that direction, swimming with the efficiency of decades of practice, with controlled arm strokes and strong kicks until he got within reaching distance.

The Soldier grabbed the shoulder of the man with one hand while the other reached for a weapon. Before the other had a chance to react, he plunged a dagger to the chest of the sailor, ending his life with one movement.

The Soldier got out of the way and watched, impassive, as the body continued to sink deeper. No more effort to reach the surface, to get a good breath. The Soldier was merciful enough to end the sailor's suffering quickly: he didn't want to witness the slow suffocation of anyone.

One day, the Soldier hoped, he'd meet the same fate. Not the mercifully quick death, but the slow process of running out of air - maybe, if he was lucky enough. Maybe one day Hydra would make a mistake and his mask would malfunction. Maybe one day Hydra would decide that he wasn't useful enough. Maybe...

But he had his doubts.

As if sensing its thoughts, the Beast let go of what left of the ship they were tasked to sink, and descended to the Soldier's level. It wasn't unhappy, the Soldier somehow sensed that much. He wasn't sure how or why was he able to get the impressions of the Kraken's emotions, but he did, and it was one of the reasons why he was on missions with it.

Everyone else was afraid of the Beast and both of them were very much aware of this fact. The Soldier had never once been afraid of the Kraken, never felt its proximity threatening. It was a closely kept secret, but he liked it very much. The Soldier's presence made the beast calm and tame and amenable, but it went the other way around, too. The Soldier felt lighter, calmer when the Kraken was near him.

That was something he never voiced. No one asked, anyway.

The Kraken made a noise that reminded the Soldier of a hum and rubbed the back of a tentacle to the Soldier's side with enough force that the Soldier couldn't counter it and was pushed aside.

He didn't mind.

He rubbed his metal palm over the tentacle, wider than his thigh, sleek muscles covered with only a layer of skin. For some reason, the fact that the Kraken had no bones made the Soldier satisfied. It was an unreasonably good thing.

The Beast came closer, eliminating any space between them, wrapping half a dozen tentacles around the Soldier so thoroughly that he was completely separated from the world, in a huge, muscled embrace of the creature. If he were capable behind the mask, the Soldier would have smiled.

In these rare, precious moments, it was as if safety existed. He allowed himself to bask in the feeling, to let it wash over him and bathe in its warmth for a while; but it was a dangerous pleasure he couldn't allow for long.

It felt like an awfully short time until he had to push the tentacles away and point sternly to the direction they had come from. Now that the mission was over and done to satisfaction, they had to head back to the base. 

The Beast was very reluctant to let go. That was... unusual. Normally it obeyed the Soldier without hesitance, but this time it pushed back. 

The Soldier grabbed a tentacle and tried to guide it away gently, to which the Kraken reacted with a sound rarely heard from it. A sound of distress, the Soldier realized without thinking. Human noises and emotions were complicated, but the Beast was easy to understand. Reading its body language came naturally, deciphering its voices wasn't more of a puzzle than a wooden cube. (Another sign that the Soldier, despite his appearance, wasn't really human.)

The Soldier frowned, unease settling in his stomach. First and foremost, they would need to hurry to get back to the base in time, unless they wanted to be punished, and the Soldier very much did not want to be punished, let alone witness the Kraken get punished. It was essential to keep the rules that were set for their pair. Second, but not less important, the Soldier didn't know what would make the Kraken feel uneasy - and it was worrisome. While he was sure they'd be able to deal with anything, he didn't want to stall themselves with such actions. No matter how justified, any lag on their part would result badly.

He pushed at the tentacles harder, his eyes stern as he stared into the gaze of the Kraken, now level with his own. Well, as much as it was possible, due to their size difference. He pointed to the right direction again; his movement more sharp and punctuated this time.

The Kraken made a sound again; still distressed, but also apologetic, and maybe even a bit sad. 

The Soldier nodded in acceptance and started to swim ahead, showing the way, and the Kraken followed. It didn't take long for the creature to get ahead and the Soldier grabbed a tentacle. The Beast sped up and from then on the Soldier only had to hold on to not get lost while the beast of the sea raced through the water with him, faster than any ship or submarine, en route to their home base.

***

The Soldier only allowed himself to relax once the Kraken was back in its containment. His mask was removed as he made his report and started to get prepared for his chamber. 

Once the mask was off, he didn't need his focus anymore. He wasn't often used on land, so his efficiency was very much tied to the breathing device that allowed him to remain underwater. It was also easier if he did his best to switch his mind off for the procedure; if he detached himself from his body instead of being hyper aware of it. It meant less pain, at the very least, not to mention other... things. Things that he wasn't supposed to feel. Things that he wasn't supposed to want.

It took him a while to realize that something was wrong. It took the whole base to shake around him, but once the Soldier's attention was grabbed, it wasn't wavering. People were shouting, the whole structure was wobbling around, and guns were fired.

The Soldier straightened up further. "We're under attack," he observed.

The technician kept jabbing needles into the Soldier’s outstretched arm. “Stand down,” he said.

The Soldier turned his head to look at the man. “We’re under attack,” he repeated, more urgently this time. He could help. He could save people. He was a good shot, he was a good spy; he could sneak up on the enemy unnoticed, he could disarm them, he could shoot them if necessary, he could…

“Not your mission, Soldier,” the technician said. He was sweating, his movements hasty, but the Soldier couldn’t tell if it was because of the noises around them or because he had to work on the Soldier.

He couldn’t remember if the technician was nervous before. He couldn’t remember if he had ever seen this man before or not.

Talking back wasn’t allowed, but the Soldier needed to. “I could help,” he offered the possibility.

“Not without orders,” the technician reminded him sternly. “Your orders are to go back to your chamber and mine are to prepare you, so we’re going to do exactly that. Disobedience is punished.”

The Soldier shivered at those familiar words and he noticed only belatedly that the technician did too. 

The sedatives in his system started to kick in. His head got heavier, his thoughts slower as they blurred together. He wanted to — what did he want to do and why, he wasn’t allowed to — but the sounds, running fire —

The Soldier blinked when someone grabbed his upper arm and followed the guidance. He sagged down to the narrow edge when he was let go, already chilled even before the hiss of the door hermetically sealing on him. He looked up one more time — something was wrong, but he couldn’t put his finger on it — and managed to keep his eyes open long enough to see a shadow looming over the tiny window of his cryo chamber. He inhaled, as if he were to say something, but only the sweet odour of the sedative filled his nose and lungs and thoughts.

Then the world went dark.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Namor. A little meat ugly, as a treat.

His awakening was… strange.

The first thing he noticed was that he wasn’t moving. Usually by the time his awareness returned enough for his brain to register his surroundings, he was dragged to the preparation room, feet moving mostly on muscle memory while he was too groggy to do more than groan.

His muscles twitched, out of control : another symptom of post-sedation.

But this time he was… still and horizontal.

Not even the surface he was on moved under him. 

A bed?

He moved again, fighting the fog in his brain. Why would he be in bed?

And why would the air would be so strange; humid and warm and full of —  of —

“You are saved,” someone said, the voice odd and unfamiliar. Male, adult; the Soldier registered. The speaker had a weird accent, like the words were somehow not fitting in his mouth properly and fell out before having thoroughly formed.  “I expect you to thank me later.”

Nothing made sense. 

The bed - and it was indeed a bed - was soft. He had a  _ blanket _ over him. The Soldier couldn’t remember the last time he was allowed the luxury of a blanket. He usually didn’t need it for cryo and his missions rarely lasted long enough to need sleep.

The air was  _ warm. _

Chambers and bases and preparation rooms had never been warm.

And the voice was foreign and the words didn’t form any sentence that would make sense.

The Soldier cracked his eyes open.

The man wasn’t exactly hovering over him, but he stood close enough that the Soldier didn’t need to turn his face to take a look. He also couldn’t hide the fact that he was awake, though it seemed the man was aware of it already.

There was silence. The Soldier had the impression the other was waiting for him to break it.

Was this a new handler? A new organization, even?

No, that was an absurd thought. Hydra would never willingly give up the Beast and who had the Soldier had the Kraken as well. Simple as that. Hydra would never…

Oh.

Of course they didn’t.

Gunfire and screams. The distant smell of gunpowder filled the Soldier’s memories. The base was going down when he was put out. Apparently someone came for the Kraken with force and it seemed they succeeded. Which meant that now the Soldier had new superiors.

“So?” the man hovering above him asked, as if the Soldier should have answers. 

Or maybe he was still groggy enough from the freezing that his thought process was all over his face and the stranger knew he figured it out already.

Instead of answering, the Soldier tried to sit up and to his utter surprise he was able to. No restraints holding him back.

“You aren’t mute or anything, we’ve checked,” the man said.

The Soldier scowled. He hated being examined while out, but hey, that was life. He looked the man up and down. He wasn’t properly dressed : he was bare-chested, wearing only pants, not even shoes. Whoever the man was, he broke at least seven regulations just by his appearance alone. Of course, a man with such a jawline and piercing grey-blue eyes could probably get away with a lot of things. He radiated authority.

“Who are you?” the Soldier asked.

“My name is Namor,” the man said. He held his chin up — _pride,_ the Soldier thought. What he was proud of remained a mystery. “I took you to Atlantis.”

The Soldier couldn’t suppress a snort. Even he knew what Atlantis was: a fairytale. A story that sailors whispered about when drunk, a kingdom submerged, built of gold and filled with fish-people who guarded its treasures, killing everyone they deemed unworthy. 

“Sure thing,” the Soldier said. His tone wasn’t dry only because he was thirsty.

Namor scoffed and turned his head, looking away, but he took a step closer and the Soldier got a good look on him.

It was weird because behind his pointed ear…

Namor took a deep breath and his gills opened then closed behind his pointed ear and the Soldier sucked air audibly in shock. He looked at the man again and — Fuck, this guy had tiny wings on his ankles, what the fuck.

The Soldier scrambled back in the bed. “What the hell,” he muttered. Dizzy both from the movement and from what he just saw.

Namor grinned with smug satisfaction. “As I’ve said, I expect you to thank me later,” he announced, then turned around. “In the meantime, enjoy your stay.”

He didn’t walk. Namor lifted off off the ground and  _ flew out  _ of the room, followed by the barely audible curse of the Soldier.

The show off.

***

As soon as he was able to walk straight and without making noise, he got out of the bed and sneaked his way to the door of his cell. (Cell? It was more luxurious than any of the previous spaces he was held in. Something was bizarrely wrong with this organization.) He needed to explore this place, to understand who had him and what they expected of him. But most importantly, he needed to find the Kraken.

The Beast would become erratic, peeved into a frenzy if the Soldier left it alone long, and he didn’t want that. He never wanted to leave it alone, never wanted it to feel lonely and abandoned.

He slipped into the corridor, then to the next one, noticing how absurd the whole building seemed to be; the walls curling slightly everywhere, not a single straight line in sight, and they were decorated with paintings and rugs and there were plants in every corner. At least the lack of windows were telling. It was most likely underground.

Well, at least the Soldier assumed.

Until he opened the next door and was greeted with a… a force field of sorts, that kept the massive amount of water out.

Despite his training, his mouth fell open.

In front of his eyes there was… some kind of… fever dream. The base wasn’t underground, it was  _ underwater; _ but not like the one he had been held in previously, not a massive block of concrete submerged with the entrances on the surface of an abandoned shore, no. The Soldier’s eyes soaked up the sight of a whole city, buzzing with life, its people rushing to their business in a safe distance, and his first thought was,  _ I am drugged. _

That was a logical explanation for seeing something like this, something  _ impossible _ like this.

His second thought was,  _ I need my mask. _

He couldn’t breath underwater without it — the people here seemingly didn’t have the same disadvantage, their faces clearly uncovered.

His third thought was,  _ I wish I could go out. _

He knew it was pointless, but he couldn’t help it. He reached forward. He braced himself for the pain, for the electric shock of the barrier, but he had to try.

To his utter surprise, his hand went through the force field with barely any resistance - he felt it. Kind of like pushing through a substance of gelatin. Kind of like sparks running up and down on his arm. Kind of like a tickle of sensation, but it didn’t hurt. It wasn’t even uncomfortable, just… weird. New. Unknown. 

Terrifying as hell.

On the other side of the barrier, his arm was submerged in cold water.

Who were these people and what was this organization? What drugs did they use? Were they so arrogant that they’d let the Soldier simply walk out? What were their plans with him?

He pulled his arm back. It was dripping, wetting the floor with the droplets, but the barrier still held.

The Soldier closed the door and backed away. He needed answers. He needed to know more. He needed to find his Beast and maybe get the hell out of here.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Soldier and the Kraken is reunited.

After the Soldier properly explored the place and all three of its exit points, but not before he could get answers to his questions, Namor returned.

He had the Winter Soldier’s mask in hand.

The Soldier withheld himself from reaching out for it as greedily as he felt. The mask promised the chance of moving freely, without being stopped by the water all around them. Instead of moving, he looked at the — Atlantean? — new handler in the eyes and asked the most important question. “What do you want?”

Nothing came for free and he was sure he had to earn the mask. He had to gain Namor’s trust before he could get such a useful device.

Unless Namor was running out of time and needed to risk giving it in advance, getting the proof of the Soldier’s usefulness and obedience only later.

Namor shrugged, as if he had no care in the world. “Reliable allies, enemies that are capable of dying, my people to live without getting threatened on a daily basis, a worthy successor on the throne after me. Nothing special, really.”

The Soldier’s eyes narrowed. “Successor on the throne,” he echoed the part that was off. The rest, that was something that the Soldier could be used for, but this? “Next you’ll tell me you’re a king.” 

“Well, thrones usually belongs to royals, so yes. I’m telling you I am the King of Atlantis,” Namor announced. Royally.

The whole situation was royally fucked up, that’s what it was, in the Soldier’s humble opinion. But he decided to humor the guy. 

“If you say so, Your Majesty.” He couldn’t entirely hide the sarcasm in his voice, but Namor didn’t notice - or decided to ignore it. He held out the mask instead and this time, the Soldier reached for it and took it, holding it gingerly between his fingers, checking it with the barest, tiniest caresses. The sensors of his metal arm instantly started to run a diagnostic.

“I am not pleased with this equipment, but it’ll do for now until a better replacement is manufactured,” Namor said. His tone was — the Soldier wasn’t sure he could interpret it correctly, maybe because of the strange accent, but his tone sounded off. Disgusted, maybe, under the impatience. “Come, there is someone here very eager to be reunited with you.”

Namor turned around, and this time he walked instead of soaring out of the room.

The Soldier followed. Not like he had any other options.

***

The mask worked perfectly. The Soldier breathed calm and steady, the filters getting the necessary amount of oxygen from the liquid around, the goggles protecting his eyes from the salt. His clothes weren’t his usual wetsuit, but they’d suffice.

The Soldier liked being underwater. That was also a secret he had never really shared with anyone, because he wasn’t supposed to like anything. Yet he had always found the world better when not on the surface. The near-silent, yet audible sound of the water around, the pressure of its weight, the touch of its embrace calmed his frayed nerves, even after the worst wipes and punishments. It was easier down there. And of course, he had almost never been alone when in the water.

As if his wish came true, Namor led the Soldier straight to the Kraken.

As soon as he laid his eyes on his Beast, the Soldier didn’t care about Namor anymore. (He wasn’t his pledged handler after all, not yet. He had no regulations and behavior protocols for weird strangers.) He sped up and the Kraken shot out towards them as well and they met in motion, collided in a way that had the Soldier pushing his whole body against the soft flesh of the Beast. It wrapped several tentacles around him, cocooning him in an embrace. The Soldier sighed, relishing in the feeling, but he couldn’t fully relax - not when in the back of his mind he was aware of their audience.

He gently pushed some tentacles away and as soon as he freed himself he started to get around the creature, examining its health, checking for injuries or signs of punishments. There were none visible, but that meant very little. The Kraken didn’t bruise like a human did — but still. No burnt suckers, no cuts, and no weirdly cramped muscles were better than the opposite.

Namor chuckled in the background. “He’s healthy and now that you’re here, he’s also happy,” he observed with deep satisfaction. The Soldier paid little mind to it, running a hand through the tentacles one by one. Namor apparently wasn’t discouraged by the lack of answer.

“So. You’ve been together for a while, right? For decades? That’s a long time.”

The Soldier glanced at Namor, then focused his attention back on the Kraken. The creature was emitting a low, humming sound. The Soldier never knew where it formed sounds or how he made them in the first place, but he knew this sound. It was content, like a purring of a cat.

“Why were you with those humans?”

The tentacles swirled around, then pulled back closer to the body of the Kraken. The Soldier pouted under the mask and let out a guttural, soothing growl while he petted the beast.

Namor swam closer. The Soldier had noticed earlier that he did this much more effortlessly than even him. A rare occurrence.

“They tried to hurt him when I arrived. Did that happen often?”

The Soldier’s grip tightened on the end of the tentacle currently in his hand and the limb started to writhe in warning. He loosened up immediately, and patted it in apology. He never wanted to cause any discomfort to the creature. He had always wanted to stay close and protect it, but he couldn’t. Not when protocol ordered otherwise. And he always did his best to be obedient and make their handlers happy so they wouldn’t have much reason to hurt them.

But Namor waited for an answer and the Soldier didn’t want to make him angry either. Not while they were at the mercy of the man. So he looked up at — at the atlantean, and patted his mask with his free hand, signalling that he couldn’t talk with that on. Well, technically he could, with effort and with low efficiency, but usually there was no point.

Namor understood, at least. He nodded. “I see. We should go to dry soon anyway, now that you’ve seen with your own eyes that he’s fine.”

Namor didn’t move, though, so the Soldier didn’t show any indication to leave either. He moved and touched his forehead to the Kraken’s, closing his eyes as he sighed again while he caressed the sides of the creature’s head with both hands and made sure to soak up the moment, in case he didn’t get to have such for a while.

The beast kept up the rumbling noise, its tentacles slowing down in their movements as well. Content. Calm.

The Soldier wasn’t sure how long they remained like that, but it felt a lot, like the whole world around slowed down to appreciate their pair, quiet and happy, and as relaxed as they could be. The Soldier was more grateful than he’d ever let on. Again and again, these sort of luxuries weren’t part of his life before this strange awakening.

And the Kraken had excellent instincts too, that couldn’t be fooled by tricks and lies, and yet the creature was fine here.

The Soldier would work really hard to not jeopardize this current alignment; no matter what missions he’d get, he’d do them without questions. The creature deserved it, if nothing else.

So when Namor moved, showing he wanted to leave, the Soldier didn’t oppose. He gave his usual longing look to his beast, promising without words that he’d return, then followed the Atlantean.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Soldier - Bucky - remembers.

The interrogation continued as soon as they were dry. They simply had to step through the force field that protected the door, and it let them in effortlessly while still holding out the mass of water.

He wished he could ask about the technology. It seemed like an almost, if not outright magical construct; even though it was probably just an engineering solution unheard of for the Soldier. 

Instead of showing his curiosity, he took off the breathing device. 

“I wanted to leave that base after I freed him, but he didn’t come unless I took you too. I wish I could say I was surprised,” Namor said.

The Soldier just hummed. He wasn’t either - the beast never went anywhere without its handler. They were a well trained unit.

“Never thought that a creature like him could be able to bond with a human.” 

Namor watched him. The piercing gaze of those grey-blue eyes had a more solid weight to them than the water outside. Normally, the Soldier felt his skin crawling when he was looked at, and he definitely felt something now too, but it was less unpleasant. More like… tickling. It wasn’t… bad. Only intense; very intense at that.

“To bond?” he echoed after the silence stretched. Namor raised an eyebrow in question.

“You know what it is, right? Even humans know it.”

The Soldier had no idea what the Atlantean was talking about. He was just the tamer of the beast; it wasn’t in his job description to  _ know things _ and his handlers took that very seriously. They reached the door of the cell the Soldier had awoken, and he pushed it open without question, returning of his own will.

He was behind the Soldier when Namor said, “He told me you’ve called him Steve.”

His knees gave out and he fell on them with a loud thud, his breathe catching as searing pain jabbed into his brain. That was a secret. That was such a secret that it had been hidden from the  _ Soldier _ himself, too; Bucky had made sure of that. 

_ “What?” _

He wasn’t sure if he said it out loud or not, not like it mattered much. The thought in his own head was so much, so shocking he lost his whole footing, he didn’t know what to do, what to say, or even how to stay silent. A barrier was down that he hadn’t known the existence of before; and his head got filled with these… thoughts? memories? of some sort that made zero sense at the moment.

Thoughts about Steve.

His familiar. His partner for life. His bonded.

His  _ Kraken. _ His Beast. His one.

Thoughts about Bucky.

Himself. He was Bucky. He had a name. But he was also the Soldier. He had… he had…

Namor was in front of him, on eye level with him.

“Breathe,” the Atlantean ordered. 

He — the Soldier — Bucky — he grabbed Namor’s arm, a heaving breath wrenched out of him. Namor held back, his grip strong and steady on the upper arms. His metal and his flesh arm both sensed it, but differently — his metal arm, that was wrong, once he had had two flesh arms, where did his  _ arm _ go — but it was good. It was… reassuring.

“Breathe,” Namor repeated. His expression was calm, too, but the Soldier wasn’t able to look him in the face.

“I di-- uh didn’t, I didn’t remember,” he stuttered. He tried to pull away, but the Atlantean held on.

“But you’re remembering now?” It was (for once) not a demand, at least it didn’t  _ sound _ like one. It was almost as if Namor was curious, but Bucky couldn’t focus on that. He had to gather  _ himself _ first before he could focus on someone, on  _ anyone  _ else.

This was crazy. He had lived — he had served — he had obeyed for so long. He  _ was _ the Soldier and  _ only _ the Soldier for so long. He couldn’t really tell the exact amount, but he was sure it was  _ long.  _ Now he discovered that it wasn’t  _ all, _ that he had  _ more _ in him than that, and he wasn’t sure how to handle that.

His thoughts were racing, but he managed to remember, barely, to nod somewhat shakily.

“Okay,” Namor said, and his voice wasn’t wavering. It was like an anchor for a ship in the storm. The Soldier — Bucky — whoever he was exactly — he could fasten himself to that voice to not get drifted away by the currents of his mind. “Okay. Do you want to stay alone?”

His grip tightened. No, not at all, he wanted to say. He didn’t want to get drowned in his own head, he could have said. Namor’s voice was something that kept him afloat, he could have pointed out. Instead, he just shook his head, unable to speak, but Namor seemed to understand it anyway.

“I can stay a bit,” he offered, voice softer than before . Soft enough for Bucky to notice even in this state. He nodded again, still unable to say anything.

Namor pulled him to his feet, and the Sold — Bucky? He went without resistance and allowed himself to be led to the bed. As long as his anchor points, the grip on his forearms, were still there, he was willing to go to a lot of places, and a bed wasn’t a bad one among those.

In fact, the bed was very, very good and soft and Bucky let go with one hand to grip the sheet and hug the blanket to his chest. It just felt so amazing and he missed touches so much. It was overwhelming, especially combined with Namor’s hand on his metal arm, the pressure sensors tolling in his head with music.

“I didn’t…” he started, then stopped entirely, swallowing it back.

Namor’s questioning hum was a strange sort of encouraging.

“Didn’t remember and I don’t know if Bucky did that or them, but it doesn’t matter or does it because how could I possibly forget?” he blurted out, several questions slurred together into one sentence without much thought given to the structure - something that was so unfamiliar to the learned coherence of the Soldier. His heart ached as he realized that he  _ already compared himself to himself. _

That wasn’t… or  _ was  _ that a good thing?

“I’m not here to answer your questions,” Namor said, very quiet. “I can help ask them, but can not answer them. Only you can do that,” he stated. By the end of the sentence, his voice was back to normal, as normal as Bucky could tell, at least. Instead of the kind new version, it was the voice of the person who woke him up. Did Namor have different people living in his head, too? Was he also sliced into pieces and carved back together later? Because the person who held Bucky to the bed moments ago was surely not the same as the one who arrogantly announced that he expected gratitude for a saving no one asked for in the first place.

Even though he was saved indeed, without realizing it before. Without knowing how much he needed to be saved, to be ripped out of that place, out of the order he had known — well, not his  _ entire  _ life, but the entire life he was aware of.

His entire  _ limited _ life.

His thoughts were racing and swimming and he was so exhausted.

“Rest,” the Atlantean ordered and the Soldier always obeyed, but now Bucky wanted to obey, too. It was a good order, after all; a wise one. He needed rest. 

He blinked up at Namor. He wasn’t sure when he had closed his eyes. Maybe when he got in the bed and the softness of the blanket overwhelmed him. He wanted to ask, to demand those answers; he wanted clarification and guidance. He also wanted to send Namor away, to be alone and have those answers at his own pace, in peace. 

Instead of any of those things, he blurted out, “Thank you.” 

He cringed at the word. It was… useless, meaningless. Yet it came to his lips so naturally, so effortlessly. At one moment, it seemed like it was the right thing to say and the next, shame took over.

The corner of Namor’s lip curled upwards. Almost as if he smiled.

“Sleep will make it better, I promise.” He didn’t move. He still held Bucky’s arm. “Close your eyes. Rest,” he repeated the order.

Bucky obeyed and before he noticed, he slipped into sleep, a deep and needed slumber while his mind started the painfully slow process of reorganizing itself.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky slowly heals, getting better and rediscovering himself step by step.

Days passed.

Namor didn’t show up again - his absence was such a stark contrast to the intensity of the first day that Bucky started to have doubts if it ever really happened.

It must have, right?

How else would he have remembered himself?

Because he did. Well, not everything, of course — it came back in bits and pieces, without context or explanation; the only constant thing in his life seemed to be confusion nowadays.

That, and Steve.

The Kraken was always near the building Bucky was held in, swimming lazy circles or laying on the underwater currents of the city that flew close by, enjoying the experience of being drifted away, and then the challenge of getting back against the flow. Bucky — the Soldier — he watched it, sometimes, amazed by the easy playfulness of his companion, wondering where this childlike excitement came from.

If Bucky had ever had something similar, it was probably gone from him - even if he managed to catch himself being curious or awed, a strange sort of awareness always overshadowed it. He felt like he wasn’t really  _ in _ his life, that he was somehow on the edge of it instead of the middle, observing himself from the outside all the time while performing his tasks.

Even though he didn’t have many tasks, nowadays, and Bucky was left wondering what other people did when they weren’t frozen. It was among the many questions he didn’t really have answers for.

***

He knew he was being surveilled. It was an obvious explanation of the Atlantean woman who visited the house often, performing daily routines: bringing food, cleaning the place, asking the prisoner questions, those sort of things.

He spent as much time with Steve as possible - and it was a lot, considering no one came to give him missions and no one came to demand things from him and no one ordered him to do anything else. So he did the only thing that made sense. Every day after his careful breakfast, the Soldier put on his mask and went out to swim with Steve, following the Kraken and watching the joyful way the creature explored the underwater world around them.

If he was completely honest with himself, Bucky enjoyed these trips and experiences a lot, too. Maybe he did more than if he were to explore - it was just much more fun to watch a curious Kraken stumble through the process than if he were to be the one; embarrassed after the first encounter with the hot geyser that resulted in two sore tentacles, or delighted by the way a pair of crabs danced around it when it descended to the bottom for closer inspection.

He discovered that he was, in fact, able to smile under the mask, even if not as freely as without it, and that he indeed could, to some extent, communicate through the device, even if it was more of guttural growls than actual words.

The land wasn’t bad, either. Without Steve there, Bucky was  _ forced _ to explore on his own. At first, of course, it was the Soldier’s instinct to be painfully aware of his environment and the opportunities it could provide. Which wasn’t much - the place seemed carefully stripped of potential weapons; the furniture was usually fixed to a surface, one way or another, and the force fields prevented him from bringing anything back in when he tried to smuggle in a pair of abandoned seashells to sharpen their edges as makeshift blades.

But those explorations slowly turned into something else. Tapestries caught Bucky’s attention and he found himself gazing at them more often, studying them closer and closer until he discovered all the minute details on them - and they were amazingly detailed works of arts. He always noticed another novelty when he returned to them that had slipped his attention the last couple of times. The plants inside were exotic, their shapes unknown and species unnamed, and one day Bucky discovered himself talking to his favorite, a quiet whisper of his string of thoughts. He kept touching things, just for the sake of it, because he couldn’t remember the last time it was  _ allowed _ to just get his hands on anything he wanted.

He couldn’t say how long it took - his sense of time was fucked up, to say the least - to shyly reciprocate the cheerful greetings of the Atlantean lady who brought his breakfast every morning; and how long it took until he first got the courage to talk to her. But she was nice; soft-spoken and timid at first, getting embarrassed easily, and wiggling her ear every time it happened. 

She introduced herself as Lynne, and after a few seconds of hesitation, he introduced himself as Bucky. It was part of the truth, after all.

They didn’t talk much - neither of them was the right person for that - but they were polite to each other and occasionally managed to brighten each other’s day, like when Bucky noticed a new pearl necklace on her and complimented it, or when she said he looked better after one of the rare nights which he was able to sleep through.

“Which one do you prefer?” she asked once, and Bucky looked up. He kind of zoned out while he was staring at a painting. To his questioning glance, she clarified, “Being on land or being in the water?”

He blinked, too taken aback to hide how shocked he felt. “Um…” He cleared his throat and bit his nail, a nervous habit he also just started to notice on himself. During his days with Hydra, he got used to being still and motionless and emotionless; and now that some of the emotions were back, he often didn’t know how exactly he should handle them. 

“Dunno,” he finally admitted, feeling the heat creeping up on his face.

“No preference?” she pushed, her voice high with surprise.

“The Soldier doesn’t have preferences.” The words were immediate and definitive; his voice had the mechanical edge of the well-learned phrase.

Her ears wriggled almost frantically. “My apologies, Tamu,” she said quickly, using the name she and the other Atlanteans responsible for keeping an eye on him often used. Bucky had no idea what it meant or why he was called it, but he had never figured out how to ask about it without sounding rude, or ungrateful at least.

He swallowed. “Sorry,” he forced it out. “I haven’t thought about that before,” he lied. Or maybe it wasn’t a lie. He wasn’t sure, sometimes. His head was messed up; that was the only thing he was always, always certain of.

***

He kept thinking about the question, though; it got stuck in his head and he couldn’t carve it out.

He kept observing himself even more and discovered that he had preferences in some cases. He definitely liked the water closer to the hot geysers because it was warmer and he felt the chill of the ocean in his bones and especially in his left shoulder despite the clothes that kept his core temperature high enough to function optimally. He preferred the blue seashells over the grey ones, partly because of the color and partly because the blue ones often had interesting shapes. But if he were forced to pick a favorite, it probably would’ve been the ones stuck in the middle of the grey-blue scale, a strange transition in between that could be seen either this way or that. They reminded Bucky of something, but his mind refused to give him what exactly. It was always on the tip of his tongue, but never quite enough for realization to actually hit.

And even though he identified these rebellious patterns in his mind, he couldn’t pick between land and water. Being dry and warm was a great feeling and the place he was kept in was beautiful and peaceful and he could actually rest there, when he was alone. It was quiet and dull enough for his mind to be at ease, his senses to have a rest after the bustle of the life outside.

But while the house was great to retreat to, the ocean was great to get out to. It was exciting and colorful and always in movement; never a moment passed without something catching Bucky’s attention; and of course, the outside had Steve.

Steve and his reckless enthusiasm, and tendency to inspect everything. Steve’s unique ways to express his opinions about nearly anything and everything, Steve and his hugs and his closeness and his tenderness and —  Bucky sometimes just felt his chest burst with the warmth for his beast.

He couldn’t have lived without the Kraken. 

But he couldn’t have lived in the Kraken’s world, either; he needed breaks, he needed to retreat to the dry when things just got too much in the water.

Steve didn’t seem to worry about that - or about anything, really, which was a good thing. The Soldier knew that the Kraken’s senses were better than anything he had encountered before; if these Atlanteans around them meant harm to the creature, Steve would be the first to know of that. Yet Steve was calm and carefree, never nervous about anyone who might or might not approach them, never flinching away from anything here, and never sporting any healing injuries after being separated from Bucky. And even though Steve expressed his sadness over Bucky’s leaves to the house, he never seemed genuinely worried that Bucky wouldn’t come back to him.

The Soldier wasn’t this optimistic and couldn’t help the terror that clawed in his guts whenever he said, however temporarily, goodbye to Steve.

But he had to.

He couldn’t stay in the water all the time, without breaks.

And he’d rather die than to be separated from Steve forever.

Having only one of those? Seemed impossible. He couldn’t choose, and he dreaded the day when he would be forced to.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spending time with Namor is nice, but also confusing for Bucky.

Bucky found a box on his bedside table after a swim outside with Steve. He was still allowed to come and go as he pleased, so he stuck to a strict schedule. That made things easier for him, but also made him predictable to his new handlers. His heart rate skyrocketed at the sight.

The deviation from the routine he started to get comfortable with made him nervous immediately and his mind plummeted to Soldier mode immediately. This was it; he had his first assignment. It took them long enough, but it was  _ here, _ and while he fucking hated that it came back full circle to this, it was also damn reassuring. Missions were easy and made life easy for him (for them) too. Missions were familiar while the whole situation down here was alien and he could have used some familiarity to establish a solid footing with Namor, to prove to the King that he was useful and worth to keep.

He took a few deep breaths, put down the mask from his hand and sat down, in his wet suit, at the edge of his bed to slowly unfold the protective wrapping.

He expected… well, the mission, but he didn’t know what format. The package was too small for it to contain a file or a weapon, so he expected a name, a picture, a location.

What he got instead was a time.

_ “Get ready to go out in the hour of the stingray drift,” _ the neat handwriting ordered him. There was a little object under it.

He lifted it up, confused. It was… a pearl. A single pearl, but instead of opalic white, it was bright orange, the color of a vivid sunset in one of Bucky’s resurfacing memories. He blinked, put the pearl back, and stared at the instruction again, even turned it around in hope to find some guidelines on the back, but it was just the strange, smooth paper he hadn't seen before, empty except for that one broad sentence. Get ready for what, remained unclear. He scowled and combed through his hair with his fingers. He might as well stay in his swimming gear and try to make himself as ready for a mission as he could in the given circumstances.

***

Instead of Namor coming to fetch him, like he foolishly expected, the Soldier was led to Namor. It was a different building, but it still had dry rooms in it apparently and Bucky was led into one of them with a huge, long dining table nearly succumbing under the weight of the food it was packed with.

His stomach let out a traitorous growl at the sight and, more importantly, at the  _ smell. _ It smelled heavenly and with a quick glance, Bucky had to notice that it wasn’t only Atlantean food there, but human kind as well. He spotted a bowl of pasta with sauce that smelled of garlic and tomato. Fuck, he wanted to get even just a lick of that so badly.

He stopped at a respectful three steps distance and schooled his expression. Namor nodded and the two of them were left alone immediately.

Namor gestured to a seat. “Sit?” He sounded amused. “Or do you prefer eating while on your feet?”

Bucky blinked in surprise. “What do you mean?”

Namor’s eyebrows shot up. “This is a broad variety. I’m sure you’ll find something among this lot that you actually like.”

The Soldier still didn’t understand. Sure he had had handlers who ate while giving the orders, but he was never invited. “You want to discuss the mission while having dinner?”

“Mission?” Namor shook his head. “No. I called for you to accompany me for dinner.” Bucky wasn’t sure what it meant, but he noticed that Namor’s ears twitched a bit. “If you want to.”

Bucky wasn’t sure what he wanted most of the time but he was sure of one thing. If he was allowed to take even just one bite of that pasta, he’d take his chance with it.

He sat down on the offered seat, and Namor…

Namor smiled and gestured to the food. “Eat.”

Bucky hesitantly obeyed.

***

The dinners became regular. Not every day, but at least every other day, Bucky would find an invitation (short, just like the first one) accompanied by an orange pearl and he’d join Namor in the room where there would always be a table full of food and drinks, never the same things.

The first time he only ate a few bites, too unsure about the situation to get more, but Namor seemed pleased anyway. As it became a  _ thing _ between them, he started to be more bold. They talked some, but usually about the food.

By the fifth evening, he didn’t need to be told to sit, because he did so on his own, and his stomach didn’t clamp at the act of serving a huge amount of mashed potatoes to his plate, nor when he topped the side dish with a yellow-colored piece of meat. “Curcuma,” Namor explained as Bucky sniffed at the spicy smell. “It’s from South Asia, tastes great. Try it.”

Bucky did and loved it.

He also got Atlantean dishes, but it didn’t really matter: to his scattered brain, everything seemed new and as if he tried them for the first time. Bucky discovered that he preferred poultry over sheep, but nothing could beat a good beef steak. He learned to recognize the difference between fish and that bread was not the ultimate garnish at all. Also, he quite liked some vegetables, but absolutely hated most of the kelp and algae.

The latter he kept to himself, but made sure to avoid those after the first bad experiences and Namor didn’t push.

It took Bucky time to build up his courage, but after a while, he just had to ask.

“What’s the point of this?” he asked as he motioned around.

Namor shrugged, but his ears twitched again. “The point is for you to eat,” he admitted quietly. “I was told you haven’t… Well, not enough. So I guess I thought it was time to figure out what you like so that maybe you’ll eat more.”

Namor wasn’t blushing, but he gripped the edge of the table so forcefully that it creaked under the pressure. Bucky was blushing for two people anyway.

“Je — Kiddi — Seriously?” As always when he got overwhelmed, Bucky stammered, not sure how to answer when the Atlantean nodded. “Why — Don’t you… uh, have better things to do?”

Namor shrugged.

“When will you start to give me missions?” Bucky forced it, because he wanted to end the uncertainty.

“What, like sinking ships? I think I have better resources for that than you do,” the king shrugged again, with a calm that somehow felt forced upon.

“Anything,” he answered, stubborn as always. He didn't want new handlers. He liked it here. Namor was… strange, but Bucky figured he’d be a good handler if he finally stepped up. “Hydra was able to rule the seas by having us under their control.”

“I am the ruler of the sea already,” Namor scowled. “Those pathetic humans had no idea…”

“Steve liked you, and he’s the greatest beast of the water,” Bucky even dared to cut in, if it meant he could convince Namor. Based on everything they had seen and experienced here, Bucky was sure that both him and Steve would prefer Namor over anyone else who could be in charge of them.

_ “Please,” _ Namor snorted. He seemed annoyed again. “He’s impressive, but far from the greatest.”

“I have a range, too. You  _ could _ use many of my skills.”

“No.”

“But I — ”

“I said no!” Namor’s fist came down to the table and Bucky felt the whole structure shaking under the force of the hit. The Soldier sat very still, not even blinking, as if he could anticipate or even avoid becoming the target of the next strike if he kept motionless. The Atlantean took a deep breath - gills opening and closing despite using his lungs - and looked down. “I do not  _ want  _ to. I do not  _ have _ to. So I will  _ not _ use you.”

Namor let the table’s edge go and put both hands on it instead. Even in the current situation, Bucky couldn’t help but stare at them: the long fingers and the perfect skin and the way Namor’s movements seemed so elegant, full of controlled strength.

“Why?”

Ear twitch. Namor stood up. “I don’t have to explain myself, either,” he announced and turned to leave. 

The Soldier bared his teeth, but his voice remained quiet. “I need to know. I need to… I want… what to expect.”

The Atlantean stopped. Hands folding and unfolding, and if he didn’t know better, Bucky would think Namor was fidgeting with nerves. “Right,” he finally said. “It’s simple. I don’t want the Winter Soldier as my guest. I want you. I want  _ Bucky  _ to be here as my guest.” He glanced back, as if observing the effect his words had. Bucky could imagine his own shocked expression, given that he felt like his mind melted down then and there. “No more missions. Don’t wait for them, don’t be afraid of them to come. Not from me.”

Namor’s steps made no sound, soft on the floor as he left, while Bucky was just sitting there, head spinning and mind reeling, with an unfinished meal and more questions than before.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discussions happen. And - no, Namor, that _really_ wasn't a challenge. Goddamnit.

“How did you even meet him to bond?” the Atlantean demanded. Or asked, rather. But Namor rarely asked anything that didn’t sound like he demanded answers, immediately. It probably should’ve put the Soldier on edge, but instead, it gave him a strange sort of peace. It was… familiar, in a way. 

However, as much as he wanted to be good, Bucky couldn’t give what he himself didn’t have. He shrugged. “Don’t know. Don’t remember. I was young.”

Namor’s mordant look was something he would remember, though. If not for anything else, then because Namor seemed to get it so often. It was a constant in their conversations and the Soldier tried to predict it but he couldn’t recognize a pattern.

 _“He_ remembers. You couldn’t have been that young.”

The Soldier looked at Steve. The kraken was floating aimlessly around the house, peeking in through forcefield-protected windows from time to time and making sad noises occasionally for not being let in. His suckers were pulsing rhythmically, signalling his otherwise comfortable and relaxed state.

“Look, I just… I don’t remember much, okay? No matter how long you pester about it. If you try to torture my answers out of me, I’ll just make up some shit until it satisfies you,” Bucky explained briskly. That’s how torture worked. People who believed that pain gave honest answers were wrong. It just made the recipient want to satisfy the torturer to get free of the torture, if only for brief moments. 

But to be honest, he doubted that Namor would do that. So far the Atlantean was anything but courteous with Bucky, rarely even raising his voice, let alone a hand.

Namor’s face went through a series of emotions, and Bucky couldn’t decipher all of them. He recognized the first, though; the disgust was obvious on the King’s features and Bucky braced for an impact, despite thinking just moments ago that Namor wouldn't. 

By the time the other settled on one expression, it was strange because it wasn’t annoyed for a change.

“I see,” the Atlantean said slowly, mouth curving into an unhappy smile. “You know what that means, right?”

Bucky blinked. “It means that I was young so I don’t remember?” He wasn’t ready to admit the huge holes in his memory, the way his world got messed up and his thoughts jumbled. Not… yet. Later, maybe.

Namor’s ears twitched just like the edge of his smile. “Humans have a different word for it, some acronym or something, but we call this the soldier’s nostalgia. Memory loss is not uncommon among them.”

Bucky looked away, unable to handle the king’s piercing gaze. He was pretty sure he wasn’t anything even remotely nostalgic. “If you say so.” 

Namor’s look had a weight to it, like it had the unrelenting nature of the water he lived in. Bucky couldn’t help but admire that gaze; the way Namor’s eyes held a whole world in themselves. And yet Namor, though grumpy and harsh, was never cruel or aggressive; not even careless.

Based on all the little bits and pieces Bucky had witnessed in the last couple of weeks (or was it months?), the Atlantean cared a lot.

Namor stood up. “Don’t go anywhere,” he ordered.

Bucky scowled. He was at the bottom of the fucking ocean. Even if he tried to go anywhere it was miles and miles of empty water everywhere around the city. The mere dimensions of the ocean were a more effective prison than walls could ever be. He didn’t want to be dragged back and be punished for a fruitless escape attempt, even if he wanted to go away. Which he didn’t, by the way, but that wasn’t something he’d tell to Namor. Again: not yet.

“Not like I could,” he muttered darkly, too quiet for anyone to hear. Or so he thought— he was used to the range of human senses, not Atlanteans.

Namor was almost at the door, but he turned back. “Pardon me?”

Bucky sighed. “Not like I could,” he repeated, hiding the tremor from his voice at the callout. He hoped that he sounded more defiant than he felt.

Namor, however, looked surprised. “If you want to, you can leave,” he offered.

Bucky knew a trap when he was presented with one. “No, thank you.”

“I mean, obviously it would need a bit of logistics. You have to be escorted out with your senses blocked so you wouldn’t be able to reveal this location even if you tried,” Namor mused, “but besides that, if you want to leave, you are allowed to.” And when Bucky didn’t answer, staring at the floor instead of meeting Namor’s eyes, the Atlantean continued. “You know they call you Tamu for a reason, right?”

Bucky perked up. He was curious from the start of the meaning of that name. Was it mocking? Something tied to his past? Or something else entirely? This was the perfect opportunity to ask. “What does that mean?”

Namor reeled back on his feet like he was unexpectedly hit. “Oh. I thought you knew,” he murmured. He crossed his arms behind his back, shoulders straight. “It means guest. A very respected guest, as it is, who has diplomatic immunity and is protected by all the sacred laws of hospitality and royalty.”

Bucky blinked. “You’re kidding.”

Namor never joked. They both knew that. He had his own dry sense of humor, but that didn’t involve any kidding or prank schemes.

The Atlantean didn’t even deem that comment worth answering.

Bucky tilted his head. “So your people think… that I’m, what, a human _prince_ or something?” To his credit, Namor seemed genuinely uncomfortable in the situation. And to be completely honest, Bucky found that hilarious. “What if they find out that I’m not?”

“That’s none of their business,” Namor grumbled. “You’re the King’s guest, so you are treated as a royalty, because, by default, being my guest makes you one.”

It would have been a stretch to say that Bucky understood the Atlantean culture, far from it, yet this sounded bullshit even to him. But he wasn’t going to call Namor out on it.

Even if it was just a lie, it was… a good one. Heartwarming, even.

So instead of mocking or further questions, Bucky simply nodded. “Thank you.”

***

The next day, instead of the usual dinner invitation with the orange pearl, Bucky got a different message.

 _“We’re going to swim together today,”_ the small letter announced and the box held a carefully carved piece of coral shaped into a curling tentacle.

Bucky smiled, placed the coral on his bedside table carefully, and started to get ready.

***

Bucky had never felt the need for speaking while underwater. His missions had usually been lonely ones, accompanied only by the Kraken and they understood each other without words. Even if they had other company occasionally, the standard military hand signs were enough to communicate what was necessary.

Swimming with Namor was an entirely different story.

Bucky couldn’t drop his gaze from the Atlantean. He was…

Bucky had to admit, even if only in the privacy of his head, that Namor was absolutely, breathtakingly  _ gorgeous _ in his element. The way his pitch-black hair floated around his face or got combed back by their momentum; the strong movements of his swimming; the aura of undoubtable confidence around him caught the eye and didn’t let it go.

Bucky wanted to say a lot of things. Wanted to voice his admiration, wanted to compliment the way the King looked, felt; wanted to tell how much he was thinking of Namor constantly even when they weren’t together.

On the other hand, he was really, really grateful that he couldn’t say a single word and therefore couldn’t humiliate himself with such a stupid confession.

Namor wasn’t ever the chatty type, so they mostly spent the time in silence, the Atlantean occasionally showing him something or teaching the name of a sea creature, but other than that, he wasn’t in a hurry to explain the reason behind this little field trip. Not until they were, apparently, close to their destination, and Namor finally slowed down (Bucky’s muscles were relieved at that) and stopped to turn to his guest. They were in front of a massive hillside from where a huge cave were yawning at them.

“Have you wondered why Steve didn’t accompany us today?” Namor asked.

Bucky moved his hand in a ‘so-so’ motion. He wondered, yes, because Steve rarely left for more than an hour at once, and it had been nearly a twelve now, but he also figured that the Kraken probably just got something that caught his attention and would be back after the thing lost its appeal. Now, faced with an underwater cave, he didn’t feel quite that confident.

“I had brought him here before today. I’d promise him we’d accompany them soon,” he added. 

Alarmed, Bucky looked at the King closer. Was that a threat? But why would Namor all of a sudden…? No, that didn’t make sense. Bucky instinctively raised his hand so he could chew on his nails with nerves, but of course the mask stopped his movement. It also gave Bucky the necessary second of delay to understand, before spiralling into panic, why Namor looked strange at that moment.

Namor was  _ smiling. _

Truly smiling, not with just some curving edges of his lips, but outright, teeth-showing, happy smiling.

Bucky’s heart lost its rhythm and did some strange fluttering instead at the sight, and his stomach flipped in a funny way. It wasn’t bad. He didn’t know what to do. He put one hand, palm up and shoulder raised, in a questioning manner.

“Remember when you called Steve the greatest beast of the water?” Namor asked. 

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up. He  _ did, _ yes, but what did that  _ question _ mean? Was this punishment? Was this…?

“Bucky, meet Marrina,” Namor said and with a flourish, he moved out of sight.

From behind, a beast emerged.


End file.
